Thrice Defied
by irishileana
Summary: Voldemort is a murderer, everyone knows that. Only one can defeat him. But others can help. One person, in particular. One person who holds the key to everything Harry Potter has ever wanted.


Author's Note and Disclaimer: Here I am again, doing yet another little Final Prophecy story. Listening to some Rajaton makes me a healthy writer, so I'm doing that, too. What do you know?

Well, the prompt this time was to write a story, over 3000 words, based on a picture of Crookshanks standing on a wall at Hogwarts. Actually, when I was writing this, I noticed a person standing in the background, although you can't see who it is. At least, I think it's a person. I really can't tell. So I've been brainstorming, and I came up with a little idea.

But before we begin, I must add the whole disclaimer thing. You know, how I'm not J.K. Rowling and I don't own Harry Potter. But seriously, everyone knows I don't own Harry Potter. Everyone knows that Jo writes the books! But seriously, who would ever think that Jo would be writing FANFICTION, anyway? She's a little busy with, um, I don't know, the seventh book?

Actually, if I were Jo, I would probably write fanfiction. Why not? I wouldn't say who I was, of course, but whatever.

But going back to my rant, does anyone ever sue fanfiction writers, anyway? And how could they? Very few of you know my real name!

I'll stop my rant, because this could go on for hours. But just keep in mind that this will be the only author's note for this story. Don't hurt me! dodges as rotten tomatoes are thrown

Oh, I also don't own the name "Antayus". It's a TWitches thing.

Oh, shut up.

Two hooded figures hurried through a dark, shadowy forest, the partially frozen ground crunching below. An eerie, grey mist hung in the air, thick as smoke, though it was the last day of what should have been a blazing hot July. They were the only living things penetrating the stillness, save for a large, fuzzy orange cat that hid in the trees. One might wonder why what seemed like a domestic cat was lounging around in the woods, but this was no ordinary cat, and of course the strangers couldn't see it anyway.

"I don't understand why you—" the first figure, apparently a female, pleaded.

"We have to go!" the other snapped back. "You don't understand, he's found us again!"

What should have pushed the woman to move faster only caused the opposite as she stopped in her tracks. As she turned fearfully to her partner, her hood fell to her shoulders, and her face hit the tiny bit of silver moonlight that peeked through the trees, illuminating a striking pair of startlingly green eyes and a long mane of red hair. She hastily lifted her hood back over her head, so that her beautiful face was once again hidden in the darkness. The other figure pulled at her arm.

"Come on!"

The woman took a deep breath. "You know I can't run too fast, not with the baby." She pointed out. And, indeed, she did seem quite large, as though she was ready to give birth any day now. Neither male nor female noticed as the bushes shifted slightly. The cat, however, seemed intensely alert. Its pupils narrowed to very thin slits, much like the glowing red eyes that belonged to a terrible man, one that the ball of orange fluff could sense very nearby . . .

"At least try!" he begged, sounding desperate. ". . . please."

And at the fearful note of the man's voice, the woman paused, and then nodded. She began to walk at a quick pace with him, but once again stopped suddenly. This time, however, the man joined her.

"What's the rush?"

The woman shivered, and goosebumps could be seen dotting her arm. The man went to her, but . . .

"_Crucio_!"

Screams of pain filled the night as the man fell to the ground, writhing, as though someone was stabbing him. The female's voice could barely be heard over the screaming and the cold, high-pitched laugh of the third, unseen person. But her desperate call broke through it all.

"No!"

And the torture stopped. The woman slumped to the ground over her partner's body. She was relieved to hear his breaths, quick and sharp though they were.

She raised her head, and her green eyes almost seemed to glow, burning with loathing towards the man who had just stepped out from behind a tree.

Lord Voldemort.

"Now, now," the uncloaked man—not even a true man—hissed. "Why are such charming people as yourselves running off to escape me? That wouldn't be . . . polite . . . you know."

The other man reached weakly into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a long, smooth, polished stick.

"James, my . . . my dear friend. You wouldn't curse me, now, would you? You know that we still have some . . . unfinished business." The high voice pierced the air.

"I am not your friend," the first man, the one with the stick, spat. "You don't have any friends, and you never will. You're not human enough."

Voldemort glided slowly towards the man and woman, who stood their ground. He pulled out his own piece of wood and wielded it, as though prepared to spar.

"You are quite right, but not correct at all. I am not human. I am much more than that . . ."

The woman stepped forward, so that she and Voldemort were but an inch apart. With an air of a "bite me" type, she stared him straight into his cold, red eyes, and snarled, "We've gotten past you twice before. Why not a third time?"

Voldemort twirled his twig like a baton in his hand. "My dear Lily," he smiled cruelly. "You can't win every time."

He stopped with the twirling. The woman, Lily, fell backwards onto the cold, hard dirt. "At last you shall be finished. _Avada Kedavra_!"

A bright emerald beam of light shone from the end of Voldemort's stick in the direction of the cloaked figures. But in that split second, something strange happened. Another ray, startling blue, met the green one, sending both lights careening in random directions.

Voldemort turned in fury, and his crimson eyes turned, if possible, even redder, as they found the dark grey ones of Regulus Antayus Black.

"Run!"

Regulus knocked Voldemort's wand out of his pale, spider-like fingers. It went flying at a tree, sending sparks into the air and the tree on fire. Voldemort quickly summoned it wordlessly, and, even more unusually, wandlessly, back into his hand, but by then it was too late. Lily and her companion had already disappeared into the forest.

"Traitor!" he spat angrily, and raised his wand. Regulus held his as well.

"You're just figuring this out now?" Regulus taunted bitterly. "You, the 'greatest wizard of them all'?"

Voldemort glared at him; for once, there was no grin upon his face, evil or otherwise. His wand was still pointed directly at Black's broad chest.

"You will not live to tell the tale." He hissed.

"Oh, I think I will." Regulus replied. "I'm fully prepared to fight you. You who has to kill defenseless muggles to feel powerful. Coward."

"Enough!" Voldemort's eyes were as red as ever. "I have had enough with you, Black. It's time to die. _Avada Kedavra_!"

There was a great flash of green light, and, oddly enough, a spark of orange that disappeared as quickly as it had come. When the flash had subsided, Regulus Black lay motionlessly on the ground, his eyes wide with determination. Voldemort smirked.

"Good is weak," he told the still body. "You should have never betrayed me."

He disappeared into the shadows. Five minutes later, Black's eyes closed and reopened.

He sat up. "Staring is not good for the eyes." He mused aloud.

He turned to the tree behind him . . . well, in front of him. A branch was stretched in front of his chest, although it was quite badly burnt and looked as though it was ready to fall off into ashes.

"Thanks." He whispered. He pointed his wand at the branch, and in a blue spark it was suddenly healed. It was a very thick branch, strong and sturdy, more like a log than anything else. It crushed him into the tree.

With another wave of his wand and a loud crack, the human disappeared. The wind rustled the tree, so that it seemed to be waving.

Somewhere, right at that moment, a prophecy was being made.

"_. . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . ._"


End file.
